10 Things I Want To Hate About You
by BadaBingxBadaBoom
Summary: Bella Swan is your typical black sheep: unpopular, at war with her mother, always in trouble for something or other. Forks is the last place she wants to be. Until she meets her other half, a.k.a Edward Cullen. Suddenly, Forks isn't so bad... AU, AH
1. Chapter 1: Wouldn't, Didn't, Wasn't

**Hey peoples! Yes, I know, I should be over on Kryptoniteupdating there, but I'm so blocked, I feel like an offensive football player on my high school's team (Ha ha reference to our game on Friday, I don't expect you to get it). So I'm posting this story that I've been working on since, like, February and the title's real crap cause I couldn't think of anything else at the moment, and my mom was yelling at me to hurry up and get my a$$ upstairs to bed and I'll prolly change it later anyway, so what the heck?**

**This is a Twilight story, even though I'm kind fo anti-Twilight right now. Ah, well, I don't even know if I'll keep going. I just like the way I've written Rebel Bella in this one. She makes me smile, laugh, and then want to go talk back to my retarded teachers. Sigh. . .**

**Aaanyway, read, review, and don't get mad cause this update isn't on Kryptonite. Or Do You Believe Me Now, since lately so many people have been alerting that one too. . .**

**Disclaimer: I am under the age of thirty, my hair isn't a pretty, wavy, reddy-brown color, and my name is most DEFINITELY NOT Stephanie. So, that's it. I guess I'm not Stephanie Meyer then. Damn.**

**Kisses,**

**{--Inky--}**

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Chapter 1: Wouldn't, Didn't, Wasn't.

"Come on ladies, put some effort into it!"

Isabella grunted, throwing a little more force into her kick than was necessary.

_How's that for effort? _She thought viciously as the ball hit Jessica Stanley, who was playing net, in the stomach. She gave an audible grunt and stumbled backwards a step, and Isabella smiled a little. It wasn't much, just the corners of her lips turning up, but a much larger smile than she had given in a long time. Jacob would have been ecstatic to see such progress. Jessica had righted herself and was glaring at Isabella with unmasked resentment, but she just brushed it off.

The kids here were so petty. The smallest thing set them off.

All around her, girls were running drills and working incredibly hard to prepare for the next huge game coming up, and she couldn't help but feel put out. All these girls had likely had to try out and secure themselves a spot on this team; Isabella had automatically been in. One tiny little letter of praise from her coach back in Phoenix, and she was practically begged to join.

Not that she was about to turn down a position, but still.

It would be nice to know she had worked for what she got, every once in a while.

Being almost perfect was such a bore sometimes.

The coach, Somers, blew his whistle and dismissed practice, causing a wave of girls to drop what they were doing and head for the bleachers to gather their things and get the hell home. Isabella took her time, sauntering across the pitch slowly, letting the last remaining rays of sunlight warm her already hot, sweaty face. Sun was hard to come by here, and it was killing her. She was from Arizona; the sun was a permanent fixture in her essential make-up.

Damn Forks.

Damn Washington.

Damn her mother for suddenly deciding to ship her off to the middle of nowhere.

Isabella reached the bleachers and slung her duffel bag over a slim shoulder. She was incredibly upset over her recent dismissal from her mother's life, but no one would ever find a trace of that on her face. It was porcelain smooth, unbetraying, as always.

It was her mask, what she hid behind when all she wanted to do was scream obscenities at life for sucking so badly.

And so far, no one, not even her sister, had been successful in cracking it.

She left the grounds, never once looking behind her. She could've cared less about what she was moving away from today, even if it was only temporary. She would be back tomorrow, and the next day, so she felt no need to turn back around for one last glance.

But if Isabella would have turned around, she would have definitely noticed the shadow perched high up in the stands, watching her leave with a slight, understanding smile on their face, and she would have been curious as to what they were doing, because that's how she worked.

But she wouldn't, so she didn't, and she wasn't.

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**Short first chapter, I know. It's kind of like a prologue, except this actually happens before the next chapter starts, so not really. **

**That nice button over there, you know, the one holding up the sign saying "REVIEW", is just begging to be pushed. You know you waaant tooo. . . **


	2. Chapter 2: Piece of Work

**Chapter Two, peeps. Enjoy!**

**{--Inky--}**

**Chapter Two: Piece of Work.**

I sighed, and stared out at the throngs of teenagers moving across the parking lot and hanging by the grass. Just another day in another stupid, no doubt clique-infested school, trying to pretend like I actually care. Beside me, my sister Rosalie was perfecting her hair in the car's mirror, and I couldn't help but wonder why she got all the outspokenness and confidence, and why I was left with the inability to interact with society like a normal teenager.

It just isn't fair.

I realize that I am pretty. People tell me that all the time, even when I get hardly any sleep and I have huge bags under my eyes and my hair is a mess and I couldn't be bothered to put anything but sweats on that morning. They still tell me I look beautiful, and then they naturally assume that because I'm pretty, I'm a popular person. But I'm not. I'm socially awkward, and I'm sarcastic, and I actually care about things that matter, like the children starving in Africa and not who dumped who last week.

It's then that people start thinking of me as a bitch because I just don't care.

They allow me to retreat back into my bubble and whisper about me behind my back, and I pretend not to hear them. But I do hear them. I hear them until I put my headphones in and block out everything around me and sink into the familiar beats and chords of my music.

This leads me back to my justified hate of high school, which should really be called purgatory, if you think about it. Rosalie smacked her lips together, and looked over to smile at me. I just stared back.

"Oh, come on Bella. Don't look so depressed. It's not a jail sentence," she scolded, and I scowled at her.

"That's what you think," I muttered under my breath, not intending for her to hear but I think she did anyway. She rolled her eyes at me and got out of her car. I followed, somewhat reluctantly, and slung my bag over my shoulder. Rosalie linked her arm through mine and tugged me across the quad. Heads turned as we passed and jaws dropped.

It wasn't that much of a surprise though.

There was Rosalie, in her high-heeled, mini-skirted, tube-topped, even though it was like -10 out, blond perfection, and there was me, in my ripped jeans, Billabong hoodie, lime green Converse, and mahogany mess of hair, walking along beside her.

We were total opposites, yet we were the same, in a way. We both (now) resented our mother, Renée, for dumping us and running off. We both thought that no guy was worth splitting our sisterly faith over.

We both hated it when the goddamn humidity of this _horrid_ place ruined our hair.

And, apparently, we were both beautiful enough to turn almost every head, male or female, as we made our way across the campus to the main office. I could feel myself ducking my head, waiting for that ability to disappear that I didn't have to kick in.

Rosalie took pity on me and sped up, getting us to the office quicker. The secretary wordlessly handed me my schedule and turned back to her computer, where she was probably playing solitaire or writing a sex novel. I pretended to tip over her day calendar and leaned over to set it back up, catching a glance at her computer screen.

Sex novel.

There was a group of guys leaning against the wall outside, trying to look natural when it was obvious they were waiting for us to come out. Rosalie tossed her hair, smiled, dazzling a large portion of the guys, and proceeded to flirt shamelessly. She took centre stage, demanding attention from everyone around her, and for once I was grateful of that.

It allowed me to slip away unnoticed.

I pulled out the sheets I had stuffed into my bag in the office and tried vainly to locate my locker. After wandering into the third unfamiliar hallway, I groaned, frustrated. I slid down the wall, wondering why on earth I had walked away from Rosalie. Sure, I would have been subjected to being fawned over and hit on, but at least I wouldn't have been lost.

"Need some help?" a voice asked from above me, and I looked up, meeting a pair of sparkling brown eyes. They weren't as dark as my own, but they had a mischievous twinkle in them that made them that much better than mine.

I shot to my feet, my hands automatically going to my hips defiantly. I appraised the guy standing before me; tall, muscular to the point where you wonder whether he's on steroids, curly black hair, and dimples that softened the hard edge to his jaw, making him seem more like a child.

"I'm Emmett McCarty. You're Rosalie's sister," he stated, not even bothering to turn it into a question. He stuck out his hand for me to shake, and I took it. His hands dwarfed my delicate palms, but I got the feeling that _all _of him dwarfed me.

And everyone else, for that matter.

"Isabella," I replied, refusing to give him my nickname. Only people close to me got to call me Bella. It was a right, and a person had to earn it.

I had officially removed Renée off of the list of people close to me the moment she handed me my plane ticket to here.

"Do you need some help?"Emmett asked me again and then smiled, and I decided then and there that I liked Emmett. He hadn't hit on me yet, and he seemed okay with my distant manner.

"Yeah, I do, actually. Tell me where the Jefferson Wing is?" I held my papers out to him, and he read them over.

"Come on." He turned his broad back to me and took off down the hall, each one of his strides equalling three of my own. We didn't speak until he stood on front of a bank of lockers and was looking down at me. I had made sure to memorize every turn on our way here, so that I could get back later today.

"Thanks," I told him, then turned my back on him to fiddle with my lock code, an obvious dismissal. He didn't leave. I finally got the right combination and I was pulling books out for my first classes and he just stood there, staring at me.

I refused to acknowledge him. I realized that I wasn't exactly displaying my impeccable manners, but I couldn't bring myself to try and be kind to him. I preferred to wallow in my own misery by myself.

Not that I'm particularly miserable. Just pissed at my mother, and disgusted at how shallow our society's standards are. Nothing much, really.

"You're a piece of work," Emmett muttered in his deep voice, and I took the opportunity to turn around, making sure to give him my sweetest smile.

"I know. It's my mission in life. Guess I win, huh?" And I left him there, staring at me with his mouth hanging open. I sauntered down the hallway, never looking back once, and wondered what it was that had made me so bitter and bitchy to the nicest of people.

I blame Renée.

But that's nothing new. I've been doing that all my life.

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My first class was English, and I sat through a badly written lecture on Shakespeare's play _Macbeth_ and barely refrained from covering my ears. This guy had it all wrong.

_Macbeth_ didn't want to kill Duncan, but his_ wife_ convinced him to do it. Not the other way around.

Sometimes I wonder if teachers are ever really evaluated before they are given a job. Some teachers are dumber than a fourth-grade dropout. No offense to fourth-grade dropouts.

Second period was boring as hell, and third was horrifying; I had Algebra. Rosalie was going to have to coach me in that class. I couldn't add to save my life. I was more of a literature girl, and numbers had never sat well with me.

In Kindergarten, I threw my math book at the teacher's head because I didn't want to do it. I was a bit of a terror in elementary school. My mother was constantly apologizing to teachers for my behaviour.

The crowds in the halls were dense, but they seemed to thin out a little as I passed, and I knew without a doubt that Emmett had begun spreading the fact that I was a nutcase around.

I dug deep into myself and put on an indifferent mask, refusing to allow these people get to me.

I'm strong enough to ignore them.

I am.

I think.

"You know, it's really disconcerting when you do that," Rosalie quipped, appearing at my side. I looked over at her and purposely crossed my eyes. She laughed heartily, throwing her head back. I couldn't help but chuckle with her; her laugh was infectious and hard to ignore.

Looking ahead, I noticed that there was an abnormally large figure standing facing us, leaning casually against the lockers with their head turned in our direction. Emmett, no doubt.

Rosalie waved to someone on our right as we passed, and I found myself wishing for Jasper, or at the very least Jacob. Those two could always make me smile, even when I wanted to punch something. Jasper was supposed to be going to school here, but I hadn't seen him all day. I began wondering if I had finally gone crazy and had started hallucinating friends since I couldn't seem to make any real ones. Emmett met my eyes and smiled and for some reason I stopped in front of him.

He full-out grinned at me then, and Rosalie was staring at me like I had totally lost my mind.

Maybe I had. I really didn't know.

"What's up Crazy Girl?" Emmett asked, slinging an arm around my shoulders and continuing down the hall, me going with him because his arm was freaking _heavy. _

"Are you spreading rumours about me?" The question slipped out before I could stop it, and I inwardly hoped Emmett wouldn't take too much offense because he looked like he could do some damage if he wanted too. He just chuckled at my lack of verbal filter.

"You're feisty, aren't you? No, I'm not spreading rumours about you. You're kind of a novelty for our little town of Forks, Swan," he told me good-naturedly, and I smiled inside. Emmett was a cool guy, and he could handle my quips a lot easier than a lot of people I've met.

"Good," I replied, only a hint of teasing in my voice.

"And how do you know my name, McCarty?" I asked, because I was curious.

"I know everything," he replied vaguely, and Rosalie rolled her eyes at him.

Rosalie. I had forgotten about her. She was still keeping pace with us, but she had moved as far away from Emmett as she could, her fingers furiously texting someone. Her forehead was puckered, as if she was upset about something. I wondered what that was about, but when a small halo of inky black spikes shoved through the crowd and hurtled past me.

"I hate you!" it screeched, and I had to blink.

"Ali, what's wrong?" Rosalie rushed over and gathered the girl, Ali, in her arms. She didn't answer, instead let loose a small sniffle and tugging Rose down the hall. People were gathering around, whispering about the scene.

Rosalie turned around, glaring, and snapped out a," What are you looking at?" Several freshmen on either side of her cowered into the lockers. She turned and led Ali down the hallway.

Before they turned the corner, a tall blond girl emerged from the doorway, fanning her face with one hand. A smaller girl with curly dark hair hovered t her elbow, clutching the strap of her tiny purse and wobbling slightly on her heels. They both looked extremely worried and it wasn't hard to infer that they had some hand in whatever had upset Ali. The crowds of curious teenagers parted for them as they passed.

I mumbled an incoherent excuse to Emmett and ducked under his arm. I weaved through the crowds until I stood in front of my locker. I pulled my books out, checking my bag to make sure I had my iPod with me. I did, thank God.

The room was almost full when I showed up, with one lab table open, and an empty seat next to a blond guy dressed in khakis and a polo shirt. He was eyeing me up and down, obviously checking me out. I was sure that if I did sit next to him, he would have his hand on my ass within ten minutes.

Sounds like fun.

Not.

A chorus of "Hey Alice!" sounded out, directed at the tiny, pixie-ish girl who had entered the room after me. I recognized her as the girl from the hall, the screamer. She had been crying, I could see, because her eyes were red and slightly puffy and her eyeliner was smudged, as though she had been wiping at her eyes. Even so, she was still stunning, especially when she smiled brightly at the room. She took the seat next to Khaki-Boy, so I drifted, almost unnoticed, over to the empty desk, internally grateful. I slouched down, closing my eyes and imagined I was at home, doing anything but Biology.

The teacher, who resembled a toad almost perfectly, started his lesson and proceeded to write out definitions on the whiteboard at the front of the room. I watched him do it and mentally put exact page numbers to every sentence he wrote. I had already read the textbook out of sheer boredom and took the liberty of memorizing everything. I was no less than an expert on this.

I slipped my earphones in, allowing my long hair to cover them, and turned the volume up until Three Days Grace was assaulting my ears. My pale fingers tapped out a quiet rhythm with the drums and I closed my eyes.

No matter what anyone said, this was bliss.

A hand stopped my fingers, flattening them against the cool tabletop. I glanced up to see Mr. Banner glaring down at me, his incredibly thin comb over dangerously close to falling off his head, his eyes bugging out even more than usual. I reached up and pulled one ear bud out, sliding my other hand out from under his and into my pocket, where I paused the music.

"Can I help you?" I asked, trying to keep the usual insolence out of my voice.

"Would you mind getting to work on the assignment, Miss Swan?" he asked, pointing a rather large, stubby finger at the board where he had scrawled out a list of pages from the textbook for us to read.

"I've read the text, sir," I replied smoothly. The 'sir' was a bit of an exaggerated touch, but I really didn't care.

Just go away, Mr. Toad. Leave me be.

"You have?" he looked shocked. I slowly nodded. Across the aisle, little Alice was trying desperately not to laugh, her hand pressed up against her mouth, holding in her giggles. All around me people were either staring incredulously or admiringly at me.

"Well, I...um, that is you... carry on," Banner stuttered and then moved on to another table to torment another student. I put my ear bud back in and spent the remaining portion of class slumped down in my chair, ignoring everything and everyone around me.

***************************

Jasper caught up to me on my way to the cafeteria for lunch. I had my nose buried in my tattered copy of _Pride and Prejudice_by Jane Austen, and I wasn't exactly being kind to the people getting in my way in the halls. I sort of just pushed through, completely ignoring their protests when I smacked into their shoulders. Jasper grasped my arm and pulled me over to one side, leading me through the crowds with much more tact than I had been showing. We went through the line silently, me making faces at the disgusting-looking cafeteria food and him laughing at me. Seriously, how can people actually eat that stuff? Settling at an empty table in the far corner, I pulled my feet up and rested them on the edge of the table and chomped on the apple I had snagged from the dining room table this morning. Jasper chewed on the food he had taken thoughtfully, occasionally quirking a blond eyebrow at me, making me giggle at him. When he pulled out his History text, I knew that he was gone.

Jasper is obsessed with the Civil War. I've learned that there is no distracting him when he starts reading about it, and the only conversation you'll get from him would be _about_ the Civil War. To me, that's weird and annoying. But I have my own little quirks that drive him up the wall too, so I try not to mention it.

I pulled out my book again and started reading, pausing only once when Emmett waved at me from across the cafeteria. People looked at him like he had just screamed that he was actually a girl who had gotten a sex change. I tried not to let it get to me. It still did. I waved back to him, and I wasn't even sure he saw it because I was trying to be inconspicuous. Invisible. Just like always.

When Jasper decided to come back to the real world, I drug him outside to the many picnic tables out in the quad. I was feeling a little claustrophobic, with all the people staring at us, the two loners in the corner. The strange kids who aren't hip and cool because they don't dress like everyone else and they listen to different music.

High schoolers don't look down kindly on different.

Learned that the hard way, freshman year.

Perched on a bench in the crisp Washington air, with my best friend who just _gets _me, listening to his latest playlist with him felt a hell of a lot better than picking up my ass and dragging it to gym. Jasper had a free period next, and he claimed that libraries creeped him out too much, so he wasn`t going there. Boys.

The warning bell rang, shrill and demanding. I ignored it completely and flicked to a new song.

A nudge in my side told me that Jasper hadn't ignored the bell, and I ignored that too. He plucked his Touch out of my hands gently, and gave me a look that said, `Don't you dare skip on your first day or I'll smack you.` I sighed and unfolded myself from the wooden planks of the bench, obliging with the unspoken threat. Remind me later to get him back for that.

Bag over my shoulder, I trudged to the stadium. Most of the class was already changed and out in the lush green grass, probably so chemical it might as well be fake. The coach was calling roll call, ticking off names on his clipboard. Girls were gathered in packs on the edge of the field, gossiping and standing strategically so that the guys got good looks at their legs. There was no way the school shorts were actually that short. They were verging on underwear.

Gross.

I refused to get dressed in the god awful yellow uniforms they gave out, and after a serious argument with the coach, which I used my delicate soccer physique and my coach's obvious need to keep me in shape for the team as leverage, I was finally permitted to stay on the bleachers. I set my bag on the space next to me and pulled out my book. I was only a few chapters in when a soccer ball hit me, knocking my book to the ground and pissing me off extremely. I looked up and saw a tall guy with the typical, perfectly gelled honey blond hair of a popular, model type smirking at me.

It was a tiny bit obvious he was the one who had kicked a soccer ball at my head.

Just as I was about to stand up and tell him to fuck off, Emmett started bellowing obscenities at him. He jogged over and pushed the guy, just like they do in the movies before they actually start swinging fists. The rest of the class stood there, watching Emmett verbally beat the hell out of this guy, none of them making a move to get involved. The coach ran over, blowing on his whistle to get their attention, and Emmett was sent to the principal's office.

On his way by, he winked at me and I reached out my fist for him to bump. No words were spoken, but that was okay.

Emmett had said quite enough out on the field.

I pondered on what I was going to do about this. I wasn't about to let that douche get away for drilling me in the head with a soccer ball, and I wasn't going to let Emmett spend his after school in detention. I hatched a plan with Rosalie in Art class, and she informed me that the douche's name was Royce King, and he thought he was God's gift to women.

Phish. Yeah right.

David Beckham and Gaspard Ulliel are God's gift to women. And Taylor Lautner.

But I digress.

Rosalie and I came from opposite ends of the hall, stopping facing each other in front of the door that leads to the office. I looked at her, raising one dark eyebrow. She nodded and we both entered, her staying just in front of me.

"Mrs. Cope?" she started, and the secretary looked up, a smile lighting her face instantly when she saw Rosalie.

"Yes dear?" Her smile dimmed a little when she noticed me, but I tried not to take offense.

"Do you think we could talk to Principal Patterson? It'll only take a moment," Rosalie pleaded, and the secretary quickly agreed, buzzing us in. I followed silently, more like a shadow than a true person. It was up to Rosalie to distract, and she knew it too.

"Please sit down," the principal gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. Rosalie took a seat, adjusting her skirt around her legs so she didn't flash him. I slumped down into the other chair, crossing my arms over my chest and trying to look as small and insignificant as possible.

"What can I do for you ladies today?" he asked, eyeing me with a look that clearly stated his distaste of having someone with a record like mine sitting in _his_ chair, in _his_ office. I barely stopped myself from snorting at him.

That wouldn't be good for the plan.

Think small and insignificant, Bella. Small and insignificant.

"Well," Rosalie started, leaning forward just enough to give him a look down her shirt, and batted her eyelashes.

*******************

I dangled the keys from my slim fingers, smirking at how easy it was to lift them. I snuck down the hall, pausing in front of the door and stuck the silver key inside, jiggling with the lock. The supervisor had been called to the office for mysterious reasons, and I only had around ten minutes to get in, out, and the hell away before he came back. The lock finally clicked, and I twisted the doorknob, letting myself in.

Every head in the room swivelled to look at me, standing in the doorway, probably looking like some kind of black-clad goddess of salvation. I wasn't though, not for most of them. I noticed one kid was staring at me like he knew me, his hood pulled up to cover his hair. He looked, for the entire world, like he was trying to pick apart my molecular make-up with his extremely green eyes.

Oh, god. Molecular make-up? I was talking like a biology textbook.

"Crazy Girl?" Emmett sounded shocked, and I smirked at him.

"Come on, McCarty. I'm springing you," I ordered, and he stood up like a good little boy and grabbed his bag. He brushed past me on the way out. I followed, closing and locking the door behind me.

We didn't speak until we had turned the corner, crawled out a window, and were walking across the soft grass towards the shop on the other side of the quad.

"How in the hell did you manage that?" Emmett swung around to face me and started walking backwards, a complete look of adoration on his face. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the key ring, swinging it in front of his face like a pendulum.

"And how did you come by those?"

"The principal and I are well acquainted." He cocked an eyebrow at me but let it go. He faced forwards again, not looking at me.

"And Patterson is exceptionally unobservant when Rosalie is wiggling her junk in his face," I tacked on, a full-blown smile spreading across my face when he laughed.

"That is _nice_, Swan. Real diabolical."

"I try."

And I do.

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**Ah, Bella. God, I love this new Bella I've created. SHe's so much cooler than the last one.**

**Agree? Think I'm totally crazy and should be sent to St. Mungo's? (for all you non-Harry Potter people, that's pretty much the crazy institute)**

**Completely nuetral party?**

**Lemme know. Preferably in a review.**

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	3. Chapter 3: Right There

**Chapta three, peeps.**

**Yeah, I know, I'm inventive. Round of applause ya'll!**

**{--Inky--}**

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**Chapter Three: Right There.**

**EPOV**

I wasn't exactly in the best mood. I had gotten sent to detention, again, for mouthing off to Banner. It wasn't my fault the man was a total idiot. He clearly didn't know a single thing about Biology, and I guess he didn't appreciate me correcting him. Maybe it's because I'm a high-school student and he's a college-graduated educator.

As if that makes a difference.

I had taken to amusing myself by watching Emmett McCarty repeatedly launch wads of paper into some poor girl's curly hair. The detention warden, Vernon, had left about five minutes ago on some emergency call from the principal and several kids had taken advantage of that absence. A couple had moved to the very back of the room and were making out on top of a desk, and a few kids had opened a window and lit up their joints, which they had pulled out from down their pants.

One word: gross.

Some girl had pulled out a phone and was texting furiously to whomever. And I was sitting here watching it all. Emmett turned to me, opening his mouth to say something, when we all heard it.

The sound of a key working the lock on the door.

The stoners hastily snuffed out their joints, throwing them out the window and attempting to pull it shut, and the couple at the back broke apart, eyes wide. The girl in the front almost dropped her phone, looking around for somewhere to hide it. Eventually she decided to stuff it down her shirt and Emmett stifled a laugh at her. She turned around to glare at him but snapped her head back around when the lock on the door clicked. Everyone was in their original seats, sitting straight and trying not to look suspicious.

The door swung open and every jaw dropped. It definitely wasn't Vernon standing there, glaring at us for doing so much as breathing while he was gone.

It was a girl, probably about seventeen. She had dark, softly curled hair that was left loose to hang on her shoulders, and she had the attitude under her brand names to match her ripped-up jeans. You could see it in her stance. Her skin was porcelain, a perfect shade of ivory, and she had deep brown eyes that seemed to know everything. Her black tank top was tight, but not to the point of absurdity and her jeans fell over sneakers, a change from all the heels you hear clicking down the hallways. She wasn't smiling and she wasn't scowling, but she was somewhere in-between, her full pink lips seemingly etched in a tiny, permanent frown.

I knew her from somewhere. I couldn't place her though. I tried to remember where I had been since I got here, and nothing fit. I definitely would have noticed a girl like _that_ if I had really seen her before. She met my eyes, and I had to blink. They were undeniably pretty, all melted chocolate and caramel-flecked, framed by thick, long lashes and completely free of any eyeliner. A small crease appeared in her smooth forehead and her frown deepened, and I had to wonder why.

"Crazy Girl?" Emmett sounded incredulous, and she snapped her eyes from me to him.

"Come on McCarty. I'm springing you," she ordered, leaving no room for argument from him. Emmett gathered up his books and shoved them into his backpack.

"So long, bitches," he muttered under his breath, throwing me a wink as he got up and pushed past the girl into the hallway. She shut the door behind herself and we all heard the lock click back into place.

The rest of the group went back to whatever they were doing before _she_ had arrived and scared the shit out of them, and I had to resort to staring out the window because Emmett wasn't there to throw crap at people.

I had a perfect view of Emmett and the girl as they made their way across campus, and I saw when another blond girl joined them half-way across the quad, followed by an extremely short girl who I recognized as Alice Brandon from my English class. Also another girl.

God, McCarty was just swimming in hot girls, wasn't he?

No, that's not true. The brunette wasn't hot.

She was beautiful.

There's a difference.

*******************

**BPOV**

My heart was thrumming as Rosalie and I walked on the doors the next morning. We had been at the school until almost five last night, along with Alice—who had shown up to tell Rosalie something about her new pumps that I really didn't listen to— and Emmett, once I broke him out of detention. When we had _borrowed _(Rosalie's word, not mine) Patterson's keys, I had also managed to snag the key that opens almost every locker in this entire school on accident.

That man really shouldn't keep all the important keys on one ring.

We decided to take revenge on Royce King, because it was the perfect opportunity. We located his locker and made some minor adjustments. Nothing big and I was anxious to see his reaction.

I was honestly surprised at how eager Rosalie was to help me; she was a model student, president of the School Council and all around prep. After a bit of prodding, she told me why.

Royce had dated her, screwed her and then dumped her when she told him she didn't want to do him again. Suddenly this guy was an even bigger douche than he was in Gym class, and he now had two very vengeful and creative females hating him with a passion.

He was in serious trouble.

We got into the lobby without trouble, and Rosalie walked me to my locker so I could grab my English book. We were standing there, talking about the latest episode of _Lost _when we heard it.

A loud scream echoed through the halls and startled everyone, followed by a string of colourful curses. Rosalie looked at me, and I looked at Rosalie, and we both burst out laughing. But we were quiet about it so no one would notice and target us as the guilty party, even though we were.

The rest of the day flew by, and I found myself actually listening to the whispers that were flowing through the halls, slithering from ear to ear like an evil little snake.

"Why would someone replace every one of his modeling pictures with ones of Barney?"

"I wonder who did it..."

"How did they get into Royce's locker?"

"I bet it was that geek from band..."

"Or that kid from the Science Club..."

By the time lunch rolled around, I was entirely sick of any word uttered that had the remotest link to Royce King. I sat at my table with Jasper, who sensed my mood and wisely didn't bring Royce King up in anyway, shape, or form. Thank god. Instead, we had an extensive discussion on Guns 'N' Roses latest album, _Chinese Democracy_, and whether it was as genius as their past albums. I disagreed, saying the only good song was "Chinese Democracy" and maybe "Scraped" and he told me I was crazy, which lead to a whole other debate on what is the actual definition of crazy, as judged by an individual.

Needless to say, hardly anyone else around me registered in my brain in that hour, not even the nasty salad Rosalie had forced me to order with threats of telling Charlie I wasn't eating, or the fact that Jasper kept throwing these, brooding, practically worshiping glances over to where Alice Branden sat laughing and inspecting nails with her typical cheerleading friends. I kindly ignored it, for Jasper's pride's sake. The same way I didn't mention how I'd met her last night because of Rosalie. That would most likely lead to him pathetically begging me to introduce them, which I will _not _do. For my pride's sake.

I walked to Biology on my own because Jasper decided that libraries didn't, after all, creep him out and wanted an new book on the Civil War. He finished the one he had last night. That made me laugh, because he'd only just started it yesterday.

I was a bit early for class, so I made myself comfortable in my seat, and turned on my iPod, not acknowledging when the bell rang and the rest of the class filed in and took their seats.

Someone sat down next to me, but I didn't bother to look up and see who it was. I could feel their eyes burning a hole into the side of my face, but I refused to turn my head, even slightly, to meet their curious eyes.

I was just stubborn like that.

*******************

**EPOV**

She was right there. The girl from detention. She was sitting_ right there_.

I had noticed as soon as I entered the Biology room that there was someone slouched in the usually unoccupied seat at my table. They had their hood up so there was no way to see their face, and you could see the slight, rhythmic bobbing of their head. I had been incredibly frustrated when I realized that I had a lab partner now. They were most likely to be as incompetent as Mr. Banner seems to be, and I was going to be stuck trying to make them understand.

Oh goody.

I got a little closer and saw the ends of dark hair sticking out of the edges of their hood. I assumed that it was a girl, because a guy would have to have some major long hair to accomplish that. It didn't even occur to me that this might be the girl I had been thinking about ever since she had appeared in detention the previous day.

It definitely occurred when I sat down and saw her pink lips forming the words to whatever song she had blasting into her ears. It was something with a heavy beat and a lot of guitar, and I had to applaud her genre choice. Nothing's worse that the machine-made noises most artists in the Top 40 were incorporating into their so-called music.

She didn't look up when I seated myself next to her, and she didn't even flinch at my obsessive staring. I knew it was rude to stare so blatantly, but I couldn't seem to look away. It was fascinating how the ends of her hair would curl in and out ever so slightly when she moved her head, and how her pale fingers were so small, with bitten off fingernails, twisting in her lap.

Banner breezed into the room then, slamming the door in his wake. Immediately everyone straightened in their seats. I reluctantly turned to face the front, telling myself that everyone's lives would be simpler if I could just keep my mouth shut this class.

He stopped at my table, glaring down at the girl sitting on my right. She appeared not to notice, continuing to stare straight ahead at the blackboard at the front of the room.

Banner glared at the top of her head, and used one finger to pull her hood down, revealing a mass of curls that were all messy, now that he had taken her hood off. The girl's fingers paused from their dance in her lap, but she still didn't look up.

"Care to join us, Ms. Swan?" Banner sneered, moving to continue up the rows.

She didn't let him.

"Why should I do that?" Her voice was musical, a chorus of bells, but still somehow rough and dangerous.

"I do not stand up here and write things out for my own pleasure Ms. Swan." Banner was slowly turning red, and I found perverse pleasure in the fact that someone _other _than me was antagonizing Banner, for once.

"I can promise you that there is nothing you will teach in this class that I don't already know," she said smoothly, sitting up completely and looking him straight in the eye, never removing her earphones from her ears. Banner's eyes almost bugged out of his head.

"Well," he almost growled. 'If you are so sure of yourself, you can remove yourself from my classroom." Everyone could hear the malice in his voice, and I knew for a fact that no one in this room would have the guts to do what he was implying. Any normal person would have sunk down in their seat and tried to stay off his radar.

But Ms. Swan apparently isn't like any other normal person I've met.

"Gladly," she said quietly, but just loud enough for him to hear her. She stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder and gathering her books up in one swift movement. Banner, and just about everyone else, watched her make her way slowly up through the aisle of desks with their jaws open and eyes wide.

As she passed Banner's desk, she deliberately reached back and flipped her hood back up, covering her curls, and sauntered out the door, leaving it open in her wake.

"ISABELLA SWAN!" Banner shouted at the top of his lungs, face a vivid crimson and getting purpler by the minute due to his suppressed rage. He half-turned to the door as if he was about to go after her. Alice Brandon was staring after Isabella in awe, a small smile gracing her elfish features. Several other kids snickered, and Banner snapped his prematurely-bald head around to glare at them unfairly. I raised my hand to point this out to him, and he shifted his glare to me.

"Don't pull my strings today, Cullen. I just might opt for your expulsion." I put my hand down, shrugging.

Not my problem, I guess.

But damn, that girl had balls.

* * *

**Oh, Eddie likes Bellie already. LLC, of course. Typical. **


	4. Chapter 4: The Ducati Implies What, Now?

**Chapta four, peeps. (I really need to get some new openers, don't I?)**

**{--Inky--}**

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Chapter Four: The Ducati Implies What, Now?

**BPOV**

I am in deep shit.

Charlie is going to _kill _me when he hears about this.

But at least I have a free period to work on my free-form sketch for Art.

I'm still in deep shit, though.

I snuck my way across the quad, avoiding any student monitors that might be lurking around the many benches and picnic tables scattered across the grass. My destination was an unknown, but I wanted to be somewhere with a nice view of the parking lot. There was an extremely nice Ducati parked a few rows down from where Rosalie left her ostentatious red BMW, and I had already promised Rose I'd get her a new car sketch to replace the one I did a few years ago of a Mercedes I saw in Phoenix.

_Phoenix. _Pah. The teachers here were so much more fun to mess with.

I managed to get myself across the lawn undetected, and I settled down under a rather large oak perched next to the designated area for student parking, which was way too small, if you asked me.

But no one did, much to my dismay.

From where I was perched, I had a perfect view of the sleek, black and grey bike and I smiled in anticipation. There was nothing better than a well placed, well lit subject and a blank white canvas. In my case, it was a kick-ass bike and a piece of white paper, but the same thrill was there.

I put my charcoal to the page and gave my hand free reign, not even paying attention to what I was doing. I stared blankly at the air in front of my face and allowed my mind to wander.

And wander it did. Somehow, a boy's face kept surfacing in front of my eyes, no matter how many times I pushed it back into the masses. Finally I relented, and allowed it to take centre stage.

I had first seen him that day in detention, scrunched down in his desk, hood up as though he could just fade into the background. I will admit I felt a small connection upon seeing that. I understood that want, and I knew how much it blew to know that it was impossible.

Honestly, I never thought I'd have to see him again. Those green eyes had haunted me in the short moments of silence I got sporadically throughout the day. They were a jade color, and I could tell that there was no way a person would ever be able to concoct a shade of paint to match that intensity or be able to recreate the golden flecks that dotted the green. It was disconcerting how well I knew his eyes, and yet still didn't know his name.

No one was as surprised as I when he sat next to me in Banner's room. Of course, I hadn't known it was him at first, but there was an almost magnetic pull that wanted me to look up and meet his eyes. I was stubborn, though, and I was determined to appear unconcerned to him.

And I didn't want to admit to myself that I was a teensy bit preoccupied with wondering how that green would look up close.

He looked much different from what I'd imagined. I had caught a glimpse of him in an open compact some girl was holding, and I was surprised at what I saw.

Coppery-bronze hair tumbling into those one-of-a-kind green eyes, messy and yet still perfect. Pale skin, maybe even paler than mine. Possibly the longest eyelashes I have ever seen on a guy, but they didn't seem feminine at all. A strong, chiselled jaw and defined cheekbones that effectively dispelled and thought one might have concerning boyishness. You could tell he was tall, even sitting down, and he had a lean, but not skinny, build you could see even under the baggy sweater he wore.

And he looked really, really good in black.

But the most shocking thing of all is that I had_ wanted _to talk to him, to unravel the secrets that hid behind the emerald green irises. I had never taken an interest in boys before, and it was like hitting a semi dead-on.

I must say, realizations like that are life-altering and _sucky_.

I lounged under the tree, sketching anything and everything that I saw, until the bell rang and people started pouring out of the doors. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the time, realizing that I had skipped my next class too, and I was instantly upset. Art was one of the greatest things at this school, and I had missed it to sit on the cold ground and draw a bike.

But it was a Ducati, so it wasn't as bad. It was still pretty bad, though.

I closed my sketchbook, stashing it in my bag and pulled out an apple I had swiped out of the lunchroom before class and hadn't eaten yet. I watched the groups of giggling girls and nerds and jocks move across the quad, most of them lining up to get on the bus, but a small portion heading towards the parking lot and their cars. Scanning the crowds for the familiar blond head, I wondered if Rosalie was going to murder me for my little performance today. According to her, she can't have anything remotely black-mail-able against her and I'm guessing having a crazy, messed-up sister might fall into that category.

She was walking along beside Emmett, giggling into her hand about something he had said to her. There was a huge, shit-eating grin plastered across Emmett's face and he looked like he was glowing. Rosalie flipped her hair out of her ice blue eyes and smiled up at him and I could tell that _she _was glowing too. Emmett stopped her before she passed by me and leaned down to kiss her, then he jogged off down the rows to a humongous red Jeep that towered above every other vehicle in the lot.

Figures. Only the biggest for Emmett.

I quickly stood and grabbed my bag, catching up alongside with Rosalie as she strode through the cars towards her BMW. She glanced my way once, and abruptly turned her face in the opposite direction.

Definitely mad.

I sighed, and dove in, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her around to face me. I thought it would be better to do this where there were witnesses so she couldn't kill me outright. She met my eyes easily, without flinching, and I was shocked to find they were empty. Glassy. Completely blank of any emotion whatsoever.

We stared at each other for a while, and she shook her head, breaking eye contact.

"I wonder how you and I are related sometimes. Only you would lip off to a teacher on your second day in a new school," she sighed and pushed past me to unlock her car. I refused to move, frozen to the concrete, mulling over her words in my head.

"So, you're not going to murder me cold-blood?" I asked, and she laughed.

"Nope. You wouldn't be Bella if you didn't pull stupid-ass stunts like that. Get in," she smacked me on the shoulder with her purse and I unfroze. I threw my bag into the miniscule backseat and climbed into the passenger seat next to her.

"You rock, Rose," I admitted, and she turned the key, the engine roaring to life underneath us.

"I know," she replied smugly, tearing out of the parking lot and leaving skid marks on the pavement, and I had to be proud. I was rubbing off on her, just a little, and that wasn't always a bad thing.

****

EPOV

Nessie met me outside the doors, and stared at me expectantly. When I didn't automatically gush out a play-by-play of my day, she elbowed me in the ribs.

"Well?" she prompted and I ignored her.

"I heard that that Swan girl totally schooled Banner today," she continued, reaching up to anxiously pull on the end of her ponytail, which was the exact same color as mine.

"Must've made your day, huh?" I looked over at her pointedly, and she just smiled angelically back.

"So, are you in _looove_?" she crooned, and I playfully reached over to ruffle her hair. She shrieked and danced out of my range, grinning.

"Seems like I've hit a nerve," she taunted, and I rolled my eyes at her, which she saw and huffed at.

"You're so antisocial." Then she seemed to get an idea. Her brown eyes, from our mother, lit up and she turned to me excitedly.

"Want to know the scoop on her? I know almost all there is to know about her." I thought about it for a second. It would give me an upper hand in the delinquent game to know her secrets, but she could also find her own sources, my little sister as an obvious one. Nessie is a little too friendly sometimes, and she wouldn't think twice about spilling everything there is to know about me to whoever asked.

"Why not?" I finally decided to answer, "You'll probably tell me anyway."

"Well, she's Rosalie Hale's sister, for one. She moved here from Phoenix, Arizona where she used to live with her mother, Renée, and her dad is Charlie Swan, the police chief. She has a massive school record in the files, almost as big as yours, and she isn't much of a people person. I heard that she got kicked out of her last school for starting the entire building on fire, _on purpose_!" Her voice dropped down to a whisper. "She sounds totally psycho, if you ask me, and she's somehow made friends with Alice Brandon, captain of the pep squad, and Emmett McCarty, which is surprising, and she's hardly ever seen without her iPod in her ears, but she still maintains a perfect GPA," Nessie finished, smirking proudly at her gossiping skills.

"Huh." Was my brilliant response.

"Whatever. I'm catching a ride with Aimee, see you at home!"She waved and jogged off to catch her ride, ponytail swaying as she ran, leaving me to ponder what she had told me.

How was it that she was related to Rosalie Hale—the pure definition of preppy, goody-two shoes _Rosalie Hale—_and yet was still able to be such a badass? And have her sister actually own up to her?

Isabella Swan was a mystery, a challenge, and I was up to my elbows in curiosity for the solution.

*********************

**BPOV**

I watched carefully as Rosalie inspected every pencil line and shaded area of my sketch, trying to pin some imperfection on me. Finally, she sighed and lowered it, a frown on her perfect face. I smiled triumphantly, and cocked an eyebrow at her.

"It's good," she grumbled, being a poor loser. We had this game that every drawing I did, I would show to her and if she could spot any flaw, I would buy her an expensive present of her choice. If she found none, she bought me one. Recently, though, we had modified it a little, seeing as we were miles away from a good mall and living under the same roof. Now, we were betting a week's worth of chores, which she just got suckered into doing mine _and_ her own. I sat back in her rocking chair, courtesy of Renée from when we were still in diapers, and put my hands behind my head, gloating.

But only just a little bit.

"You know what I think?" she asked, staring at my drawing of the Ducati I had done this afternoon. I immediately sensed her "I have an idea" mood, and I sat forward, hands automatically falling to my lap and twisting together anxiously. Generally, Rosalie's ideas end with either me getting held against my will and thrown into a miniskirt, looking like a messed-up model, or the two of us standing outside in the rain wearing only a bra and a pair of sweatpants, screaming at the top of our lungs about MTV.

Don't ask. We were twelve and not all that bright.

"Is it stupid?" I quipped, attempting to alleviate the sense of dread I was emanating because I knew Rosalie would never keep it to herself and I was bound to hear it sooner or later. She was honest like that and usually it didn't bother me. Usually. She scoffed at me, never once taking her eyes off my picture.

"I think the effort you unconsciously put into this means something." She tapped the paper with the back of her hand and I groaned, falling back into the chair, both hands coming up to run through my hair. Rosalie was going back to her Dr. Phil stage. A few years ago, when I was visiting for the summer, Rosalie and I had dedicated a whole day to staying inside and watching Dr. Phil re-runs because –shocker-- it was pouring rain outside. I fell asleep after about the third episode, but Rosalie had dutifully stayed conscious for the entire day, 7:00 in the morning to 6:00 that night. After, she had spouted so much advice and crackpot wisdom that didn't even make sense most of the time that even Charlie couldn't handle her. He was lucky; he could call in to work and take extra shifts. I didn't know anyone else in town, so I was stuck with my psychiatrist wanna-be sister. I had begun to doubt her sanity when I left, and I was worried to come back. But she was as normal and un-crazy as ever the next time I stayed there, so I pushed the scary memories to the back of my head.

Every once in a while she has relapses, and I've discovered that it's easier to just let them run their course and hope your ears don't start bleeding before that happens.

"I think the flawless detail you put into this bike symbolizes your need for speed and attention because of the lack of affection you got from your mother in your early-developing years," she stated, smiling proudly at her advice. I was about to tell her that she really needed to quit popping unnecessary Advil when her words registered in my brain.

"What?!"

"The bike symbolizes your need for—"she began again, but I cut her off.

"I heard you. I mean 'what' as in 'What are you smoking?' That's quite possibly the most retarded thing I've ever heard! And trust me, I've heard a lot of crazy shit," I muttered the last part.

"Whatever. You're in denial; I can see that. I won't bring it up again," she conceded, but I wasn't satisfied. I slowly sat back, a frown sketched onto my face.

"Where did you get that from?" I asked, morbid curiosity making me do it.

"There was this special a couple weeks ago on KTLA where Dr. Phil was talking to this girl who—"she started excitedly, but I stopped her before she could get going. I leapt out of the chair, hands in the air in a surrender gesture and she frowned at me.

"Never mind. I don't want to know. I'm going to my room," I told her, backing out of her doorway and turning down the hallway and into my room.

I have to admit, my room here in Forks is a million times better than my one in Arizona. Since Renée and I moved around a lot, I never had much decoration on my walls. It took too much time to pack and too much space to haul around. But here was a permanent fixture, so I could do whatever I wanted to my walls. Recently, I had painted them a deep, navy blue and splattered gold and silver paint across all four walls. Rosalie and I had a blast doing it, and I swear we got more paint on each other than we did the actual walls. My bed was made of mahogany, with a blue bedspread matching the walls, and I had at least two bookcases backed up against the west wall, also mahogany. My vanity was on the east wall, and only there because Rosalie had insisted I had one. I was lucky enough to get the room with a loft up top, and that's where I spend most of my day.

There's a set of incredibly steep stairs that spiral upwards to the top, and I had wound strings of white twinkle lights up the thin banister, making it glow at night. With the help of Charlie, we had lugged two low-to-the-ground, black plush chairs and a small glass end-table up, along with a beanbag chair and my stereo system Rose had given me for my fourteenth birthday. Most of my drawings were pinned up on the walls up there, and there was a tall window placed into the wall facing the forest behind our yard, and a small window seat underneath it.

I slipped off my shoes and padded up the hardwood stairs in my sock feet, one hand trailing along the banister. I curled up in the window seat and stared out the window, dreaming of what could be going on behind the barrier of trees lining the edge of our property. I etched every leaf into my mind, storing it away as useless information. My laptop was sitting on the table, so I uncoiled myself and reached over to get it. Before I could boot it up, I heard Charlie's deep voice calling me to dinner. I set it back where I had grabbed it from.

Instead of walking back down, I slid down the banister, and landed on the hardwood floor, stumbling only a little. When I looked up, I saw Rosalie leaning on my doorframe, laughing lightly at me.

"Was that necessary?" she asked breathlessly. I grinned.

"Absolutely necessary." I responded heartily, flipping my hair over my shoulder as I passed her.

She laughed, louder this time, and followed me.

*****************

Apparently, Forks, Washington is the smallest town in history, yet it still has a pizza delivery place. I never would've guessed.

After the three of us had scarfed down two large pizza's, Rose and I retreated to her room, where we currently laying across her bed, painting our nails. I had opposed the idea at first, but I caved horribly once I saw the wonders that girl could work with a nail file. She was currently painting my left hand, and I was flipping channels on her big screen TV with my right, looking for something remotely good to watch. I settled for _Gossip Girl_ and waited for Rosalie to finish. She did, and then moved on to paint her own a soft pink. I flipped over onto my back, and stared at her ceiling, which still had those glow-in-the-dark stickers that second-graders think are _the bomb_ stuck to it. I had to laugh at that.

"What are you, seven?" I mocked her, pointing up to her ceiling, laughing out loud when she scowled at me.

"I like them! They look cool," she defended, glaring at me over her French manicure.

"Yeah, if you're in elementary school," I scoffed, reaching under her bed and pulling out her latest edition of _Car and Driver_. Rosalie and her weird obsession with cars. I threw it aside and reached under again, this time having better luck and finding a _Cosmo_. I flipped through the pages, skipping over the skirts and heels, and settling myself on the make-up tips and inspecting the techniques for smoky eyes.

Rosalie looked over my shoulder, and raising an eyebrow.

"You planning on learning that?" she questioned. I rolled my eyes at her and turned back to her magazine.

"I'll help you, don't worry," she promised, and I rolled my eyes at her again.

******************

"Bella, get the fuck UP!" Someone screamed right next to my ear, and I shrieked and rolled over, falling off the edge of the bed and landing face down on the hardwood. I groaned, too tired to remove my face from the floor, but I did turn it and caught a glimpse of red wedges.

Rosalie. _Rosalie._

I felt my lips pucker into an angry pout, and I rolled over, shielding my eyes with my arm from the light streaming through my curtains. My sister stood there, hands on her hips, glaring down at me, and I pulled myself out of my cocoon of blankets, with a lot of difficulty. I stood, death-glaring up at her, getting increasingly frustrated at my short stature. My eyes were narrowed dangerously, and if I had laser vision, Rosalie would have had two holes through her forehead. Literally.

"Bite me, Rosalie." So what if I'm not a morning person? I hold no pity for the person who wakes me up. And Rosalie knows this.

She just laughed at my empty threat. She tugged on the little green camisole I had worn to bed, and I slapped her hand away. She was not going to dress me today. Not a chance.

"I'm going for a shower. Don't even think about touching my closet," I growled, running one hand through my knotted hair, giving up when my fingers snared a particularly nasty knot. She smiled innocently, and I didn't believe her for a second. I turned away from her, grabbing an old pair of sweats and a tank top and slipped out my door and into the bathroom.

I was towelling my hair when I came back in, and screamed.

There were clothes everywhere. Hanging off my dresser, slung over my stairs, piled on the floor and spilling off my bed. It looked like a department store exploded and rained down all over. And Rosalie was standing in the middle of the mess, hands on her hips again and frowning like she was angry at my closet, for some reason. Probably because of my lack of pink and purple.

Suddenly, my door flew open behind me and I jumped, turning, to see a very freaked out Charlie gasping for air and supporting himself with the doorframe. He looked right at me, a wild look in his eyes.

"You okay? I heard you scream," he sounded genuinely concerned as he straightened, adjusting his uniform. Then his eyes drifted over my shoulder and saw my room, which is when they widened to epic proportions. "What happened?" he asked.

"Don't ask," I replied in a monotone, trying to convey my un-sisterly feelings toward Rosalie so that she would catch on. He shook his head, and disappeared down the hallway, muttering the whole way. I wanted to follow him so badly it hurt. But I couldn't, because Rosalie would shave my eyebrows off in my sleep, and I rather like my eyebrows _on _my face. She did that once to a poor guy in junior high when he dumped her in front of the entire student body. Which is only like, two hundred people, but still. The embarrassment is still there.

I slowly turned, dreading whatever Rosalie was going to do to me, and surveyed the total damage to my room. She had managed to snag a shirt on the cymbals of my drum set, and I was shattered. I rushed over, flung the blue fabric off my baby, and straightened the crooked sheet of musical metal. Behind me, Rose snorted at my meticulous love for my drums but I let it go. She just didn't understand. I noticed that my favourite leather jacket that I had lost years ago was hanging off the lamp sitting on the desk, so I grabbed it. I knew what I was wearing today, and Rosalie Hale was not getting any input whatsoever.

"How do you function with this wardrobe?" Rosalie draped herself dramatically across my unmade bed, and looked up at me through her eyelashes. I ignored her and dug through one of the piles near the foot of my bed, occasionally tossing some into a pile to keep on hand for later.

I allowed Rosalie to critique my outfit. Dark, almost black, skinny jeans, tucked into medium-tall, black faux suede boot; a bright blue ruched-side tee and a black vest over it, with a long silver chain and silver dangly earrings.

"Not bad. Kinda boyish, but not that bad. It suits you, I suppose," she allowed. "But," she continued," your hair is a disaster. And you need make-up." I shrugged, not bothering to argue. I had the worst case of bed head ever, and I was planning on doing my face up today anyways. Might as well let Rose handle it because I knew I wasn't awake enough yet to even attempt handling a mascara brush without taking my eye out.

Rosalie sat me down at my hardly ever used vanity, and plugged in her flat iron, detangling my knots while it heated. I closed my eyes and let her work her magic, not even caring whether she painted my entire face blue. I could've cared less. She moved on to my hair, after blow-drying it, and I kept my eyes closed as she tugged on and shaped my choppy layers around my face. It took her God-knows-how-long to finish, and when she did, I vowed never to doubt Rosalie's beautification skills again.

I was, quite literally, glowing, somehow, and my wide dark chocolate brown eyes looked even bigger and more prominent with the layers of dark eyeliner and longer lashes, obviously a product of mascara. She had put a tiny bit of color into my cheeks, but not a lot because, knowing me, I'll blush enough to make it look good. My lips were a soft pink and glossed.

My hair was straightened completely, falling around my face in soft layers and my bangs were angled across my forehead, straight and covering one eye. The light landed on it and it shone, the tints of red peeking out from under all the brown as an undertone, emphasizing my pale, ivory skin.

I had to hand it to Rosalie. She knew what she was doing.

"Very nice," I commented, twirling a strand of hair around one finger. I stood and glided over to my closet, rummaging around in the top shelf before finally pulling out a black fedora. I cradled it in my hands for a moment and then flipped it onto my head.

"Now it's perfect." I carefully tipped my hat at Rosalie as I passed her on my way out the door.

I snatched my woollen scarf and mitts off of their hook in the porch, stuffing them into my bag and breezed out the front door. Rose grabbed her purse behind me and tucked her Calc book unceremoniously under her arm. The surprisingly warm wind whipped the ends of my hair around, dumping the hat off my head. I chased it and snatched it out of the air, then bolted for Rose's BMW. Once we were safely in the car, I attempted to smooth out the tangles in my hair, courtesy of the wind, while Rose made faces at every car that passed us, scaring the crap out of most of the drivers.

The ride down was quiet. I was utterly engrossed with playing around on Rose's iPod, flicking through her playlists, with my feet on the dash even after she had swatted them down twice already. I thought once briefly about cracking out the Pop Tarts I had stashed in my pocket, but decided it was too early and I wouldn't enjoy them.

No need to waste a perfectly good Pop Tart.

Today went by with no disturbances, and I wasn't at all surprised to learn that I had after-school detention for a week, starting on Monday, for "back-talking the honourable Mr. Banner". I refrained from expressing how wrong that opinion was to Mr. Patterson, in an effort to avoid an extra week of unnecessary detentions, and accepted my punishment quietly. It wouldn't be the last time I would end up in the Detention Hall.

I took the liberty of skipping Biology, saving myself and everyone else present some grief. I was heading out to one of the more secluded benches on the far side of campus when he caught up with me. My ear buds were in my ears, so I didn't hear the crunching of the dying grass under his feet, and when he tapped me on the shoulder, I screamed. Loudly. And, to add to my embarrassment, whipped around, stumbled, and fell right on my ass.

I was now sitting on the cold, damp, _hard_ ground, staring up at him. He looked just like he did yesterday: that unusual messy bronze hair, dark hoodie, light-wash jeans, and dirty Chucks. His lips were twisted up into an amused smirk, and a blush rose to my cheeks. He stuck out a large hand to help me up and I took it, marvelling at his long fingers. He pulled me upright easily, almost as though I weighed nothing. The top of my head barely reached his chin. I had to tilt my head back to see his face.

"Thanks," I told him, my mind frantically memorizing how his green eyes _were _that much better up close.

"No problem. Edward Cullen," he offered, holding out my bag that had fallen off in my little tumble. I took them gratefully, but I still didn't trust him. Guys with features like _that _are generally full of themselves and total asses. Some would classify them as players. I reached up and ran a hand through my thick hair, mussing it up and most likely earning me a lecture from Rose when she sees it.

"Isabella Swan," I responded almost sullenly, refusing to give him any headway, and also noticing that he still had a hold of my hand in his, and that my palms fit almost perfectly into his. I was getting so sappy.

"Oh, I know." He smiled, stunning me for a moment, and I had to remind my lungs to inhale.

"What?"

"Your name; I already know it." He shrugged under my critical stare.

Realization dawned on me. "Banner." It was a statement, rather than a question. "Let me guess: I was the example for the don'ts of the classroom."

He laughed. It stopped my breath. Again. Damn. "Not exactly. More like, he cursed you to the fiery pits of hell."

It was my turn to laugh.

"He doesn't like you much," Edward observed. I realized we had started walking again, back towards the parking lot again.

"He's had a vendetta against me since day one," I scoffed, waving a hand dismissively in the air.

"It's nice to know he hates people other than me." I turned to look at him. He shrugged. "Banner doesn't appreciate my input during class. I've gotten many detentions from him, but its fun to watch him turn purple."

"Does he actually turn purple?" I couldn't help my curiosity, and I barely even noticed how at ease I felt around this strange boy, nor did I care.

"Yeah."

I was silent for a minute, then I said," Cool." That made him turn to look at me with a strange expression.

"You're not like the rest of the girls here, are you?" he asked.

"Nope. See you around, Edward!" I chirped, turned on my heel and jogged lightly back to the library doors, leaving him there to stare after me.

* * *

**I'm running out of clever ideas to say this, so I'll just go old school.**

**Reveiw. **

**There, that was easy.**


End file.
